


A Happier Year

by echoslam



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Characters Consider Themselves Married Even if in the Eyes of the Law They're Not, Fix-It, Living Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 15:41:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20010730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoslam/pseuds/echoslam
Summary: Thomas Barrow had never given freely of himself before.





	A Happier Year

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smaragdbird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smaragdbird/gifts).



“Thomas? Are you...smiling?” The look of bemusement on Mister Carson’s face was a sight to behold. 

No doubt the old butler had never envisioned such a sight, especially when said expression came with the handing in of one’s notice. The quirk of his eyebrow seemed to demand an explanation, but Thomas gave none. 

He doubted he would believe him if he told him it was his wedding anniversary. 

* * *

It had been a year ago, in the wooded grove behind the village hospital, when he’d taken the lieutenant’s hands in his and held them fast. They’d been walking together, brisk and sure, Edward having nearly forgotten the presence of his walking stick, holding on to his arm with only the gentlest grasp. He’d slackened his pace to match his companion’s as they approached the small clearing. Edward leaned himself against a tree as he let Thomas place the device aside, glad as always to be given a moment to rest unassisted. They stood there together with an odd solemnity, hands clasped, like two grown children, but Thomas knew that neither of them thought of it as play. 

“I’ll look after you. Forever and always.” Thomas caressed his cheek with his unmarred hand. “Edward...”

“I-,” The lieutenant’s grip tightened against his wrist. “Yes, Thomas. I’m yours.” The warm smile on his face brimmed with understanding. And expectation. Thomas kissed him with force, and around them there was no sound but the rustling of the leaves above and the distant trill of birdsong.

* * *

“We can give you a good reference...” Mr. Carson ventured, but Thomas shook his head. 

“No need. Not where I’m going.” He did not flatter himself to think the inhabitants of Downton Abbey would be sad to see the back of him.

Upon the announcement of his departure, the expected farewells were given. The faces he’d worked alongside all those years came to make polite noises at him, and Thomas, to his own surprise, accepted with gratitude that was only half-feigned. He was as shocked as anyone to find that his smile was genuine when the happy couple Anna and Mister Bates had come to see him off. 

Strange, he thought. In another life he would have envied them so.

His last day as a footman was uneventful, and he left the estate with the same lack of pretension he’d come to expect for himself. 

* * *

Life with Edward - as Edward’s caretaker - was not without its trials. Thomas had recognized from the beginning, since the moment they’d met at the hospital - that deadly mixture of grief and fear and pride - that was perhaps the most dangerous thing of all. Thomas knew all about pride, had seen it destroy people, both upstairs and down, had recognized it in himself. Yet that had been what kept him afloat when the world seemed to have turned against him and in times of strife motivated his petty acts of vindictiveness. _I’m better than what the world has made of me_ , he had thought to himself all those years, and so Thomas had persevered. And now, for Edward, he’d gladly throw that pride away. How fortunate it was that he’d found the razor when he did. He’d spent that entire night at Edward’s bedside, listening to his oaths and self-condemnations as he railed against himself over the failure of his plan. 

_To think I’d almost lost you..._

The incident was enough to reverse Dr. Clarkson opinion, and the idea of Farley Hall soon became nothing more than a distant and unpleasant memory. 

* * *

The two of them had grown close during the rest of Edward’s convalescence, almost dangerously so. 

He told Edward little about his role in the war or how clever he’d thought he’d been to enlist early. Never did they reminisce about the death and decay in the trenches, the weight of corpses on the stretcher, the method by which he’d copped his Blighty wound. Nor did he speak at length about his occupation prior, of a life spent winding clocks and polishing silver, bowing and scraping before those he did not respect. Likewise, Edward never felt inclined to describe the burn of the mustard gas or tell him stories about the men who’d served under him and fallen in the field. 

Thomas knew better than to ask too many questions. He’d had the Devil’s luck with his hand healing up as well as it did, and he dared not risk pushing it any father as far as Edward’s disposition was concerned. Thomas’s means were small compared to the sort of luxury the lieutenant was accustomed to, but he understood that to the aim of making him feel safe and care for - loved - such disparities were insignificant. A hot cup of tea shared at the same hour each morning, followed by long walks accompanied by Nurse Crawley each afternoon - every day brought them closer to an understanding that they only dared acknowledge in the quietest moments of isolation. 

Thomas had never met a man quite like the lieutenant before. He had none of Crowborough’s vain arrogance or Master Matthew’s daft affability. Instead, the man possessed a demeanor of wry self-deprecation, disarming in how starkly it contrasted with the delicate, almost ethereal beauty of his features. Whenever he was moved to speak at length, Thomas could not help but gaze fixedly at the movements of his mouth. It was a sentiment he would never admit aloud, but somewhere in the depths of his heart he was relieved that Edward would never reproach him for staring. 

* * *

“Were it not for Corporal Barrow, I daresay your son would not be alive to see you this day.” Doctor Clarkson’s praise was effusive when the lieutenant’s parents arrived to behold what had become of him. 

From that day on, Edward’s family had little to say about the fate of their eldest son. All that could be said was the he had chosen to live out the rest of his life in obscurity. It was not as though he could announce to the world that he had taken up with an uneducated man. There was talk of Edward being sent off to engage the services of a specialist, one with an office in Harley Street, but the lieutenant was vocal in his insistence that the only care he needed was right here in Downton. 

On Thomas’ part, all that could be inferred was that he had been been moved by a fit of charity towards his fellow man, and act that even Lord Grantham himself commented on him favorably. So good to see a junior officer being given such excellent care. It reflected so well on their little community. Who would have thought their first footman had such a side to him. 

* * *

“Thomas...? Forgive me-, Mister Barrow, I should say,” They’d been stopped by Master Matthew as he passed through the village square, himself miraculously recovered. Thomas was surprised by how glad he was to see it. Almost as happy as he was to know that Nurse Crawley had safely given birth to her baby girl and was living happily living out a life with a family of her own in Dublin. 

“It’s unusual to see you being so...solicitous.” His eyes trailed down to observe Edward’s solid hold on Thomas’ forearm, but only for a moment. He gave them a smile that seemed at once knowing and unconcerned. “Best of luck to you both,” he said as he went along his way.

“Did you know each other? At school?” Thomas asked once they were out of earshot.

“At Oxford? Couldn’t say.” Edward’s tone was buoyant, devoid of regret. “I was never one for the social crowd, you know.” Thomas knew. Before the war, Courtenay had been an outdoorsman first and a student second. And everything about that world was in the far-flung past now. 

* * *

“Won’t they miss you now that you’ve gone?” Alone together in their shared cottage, Edward’s voice was concerned as they cast off their shoes and lay in bed together half-clothed, arms around one another.

“Lord Grantham might, if anyone. I was a dab hand at cricket, after all.” That had made Edward laugh. 

“I’d have liked to have seen you like that, in cricketing flannels, sweat running down your brow,” Edward mused from where he was lying on the bed. His hands were searching, traveling urgently over Thomas’ chest as he navigated himself to lie pressed against him. His fingers caught the curve of his jawline, and the tip of his thumb traced over his lip. 

“Are you a handsome man, Thomas?” The tone in Edward’s voice as he asked the question sent a wave of need through him, forcing him to swallow a nervous lump that had formed in his throat.

“Some say that I am,” he answered, voice strained. Edward’s mouth formed a grin that was almost wicked.

“I want you to...tell me about yourself. Is that all right?” Thomas felt the sensation of Edwards hand continuing to explore him, one hand cupping between his legs while the other danced across his face to mark the features he’s just described, as though memorizing him. 

“Your hair? It’s...?”

“Dark.” Edward nodded in recognition.

“And your eyes?”

“Blue.” Thomas moaned as Edward’s hands traced down and over the rest of his body. His movements were unsure but bold, eager to demand access to every part of him. 

“I want to...be with you, Thomas. Will you?”

“Yes.”

For the first time Thomas felt what it was like to be courted, to be pulled into kisses instead of pushed away, to be needed, yearned for. 

“Stay with me,” he murmured, his lips pressed to his neck. Warm fingers twined with his, and Thomas felt his heart swell at the simple act of acquiescence. 

You are mine, and I am yours. That was the promise they’d made to each other. So long as Edward would trust him, Thomas would allow him all the things he wanted, whatever was in his power, so long as he still breathed.


End file.
